Ravenend Frost Poems

In wee hours does he awake daily;
Walking down the frosty path,
Beyond the village to the fields of barley,
To harvest the crop ‘neath the Hills of Goliath.
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A mist filled in the empty streets,
With naught a sound, all souls’ asleep,
A gang of men hither came to meet,
Who traded bags and secrets to keep.
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A wind of thought brushed my brow
And tottered the hair to and fro,
I wonder when the grass will grow,
When will the Somerlett glow?
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A Spoken poem, speak it out loud, do not sing it, and you will know of the Lore of the Lord of Monsoon.

Nedbør
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Celestial Horde

From the skies they rouse,
Filling the coast with fog
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In times uncountable but not so old
There in an ancient city not so young
Were forests dense and mountains cold
Rolled up into a lore that is ghostly sung.
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When the Moon arouse in the east,
And crimson skies streaked in west,
Sea glimmered in the evening starlight
And the sun sank in the deep blue twilight.
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